Traveling Alone
by chasingfireflies
Summary: She makes plans. They never work out right.


**Disclaimer: Claims to the respective owners. I write many things. I own nothing.**

**A/N. Spoilers up to 2x05: "The Doctor". Props to touchemonamie for inspiring... uh... this. Yeah. I don't know. There are definite reasons I don't write so much anymore. Sleeping Swan, if you didn't know. But not like super blatant in your face - uh, just, read it. And ending, thy name is 'weak'. And ****I may consider extra chapters. I don't know. Oh well. Anyway. On with it.**

* * *

She makes plans. They never work out right.

/-\

She burns for revenge in the beginning. Her entire life, she has been underestimated, pegged the perfect little princess, little more than a nuisance and never a threat – but even dresses, learned etiquette, even decades stuck in sleep, in stasis, don't take away the passion, the drive she was born with. She is a Princess, undervalued as the monarch – particularly now that their monarchy has fallen. But as a Princess, she was born to win wars with wit and words, to steal loyalties and hearts. She was educated, not in hunting and tracking, or sword-fighting, or living off the land – but in the worst kind of subterfuge. Politics. Dirty tactics hidden behind kind facades.

"I want justice," she says – all conviction, all drive, looking at Mulan for help, for support, for agreement. These strangers have stolen her prince from her, and these allies have let them roam free. Mulan tells her, as though she is a child, to stay, to stew it over, to grow up and let it go – scolds her on the line between justice and vengeance, as if she doesn't already know. Leaves her behind, because she is a princess – not a threat.

She is not the flower everyone sees, but the snake beneath it. She unsheathes her dagger and swears she'll prove it.

/-\

Aurora has it all planned out. She will follow them into the forest, keep at a safe distance, close enough to call for help if she needs it and far enough to stay out of sight otherwise. Catch them alone. The brunette first – so self-assured, assertive, comfortable in this world and in her own skin – the bigger threat. She will slip up behind her under the cover of darkness, cover her mouth to stifle the cry of fear, slide her dagger across the flesh of the woman's throat. Snow will die, bleeding out in the night, choking on her own blood and breath. Then, after, the unnatural blonde, penance for the love they have robbed her of, for the life she was destined, stolen away from beneath her feet. She will prove that she is more than a defenceless, useless princess. And when she's done – when the other-worlders are dead, and justice and vengeance have _both_ been served – then she will tell Mulan, show her justice and vengeance, show her just how hardened and _capable_ she really is.

Of course, things don't specifically go according to plan. The one who calls herself Snow is alone, of course, in the dark. Perfect timing and placement, and all in favour of her deviations. But Aurora does not account for her own passion, does not foresee that she will pause with the blade pressing against Snow's skin to speak.

"Phillip's gone because of you."

She wants to hear it from the other woman's lips. The admission of guilt, the realisation, the acknowledgement that she will die for what she stole. She wants Snow to confess, to reassure her that this is justified, that it is more than just vengeance, more than just pain and anger. But it is that hesitation, that desire, that costs her the chance entirely.

She is on the ground before she really knows what's happened, staring up through teary eyes, frustration and grief, and Snow forces her down to the ground and scolds her, and the rest is a flurry. Mulan is there, and then there is noise – a sound she's never heard before, never, and it is loud, deafening, shocking, jarring – like thunder, but closer, sharper, reeking of danger. It is not her fault that she is stuck on the unfamiliar, that all she can think is "what in blazes was that?" while she stares at Emma with her heart racing in her ears. Mulan jerks and Snow speaks, both alarmed, both exasperated, but Aurora only pays them heed when the roaring starts and they tell her to run.

Emma, the other-worldly girl with the ether contraption, has led the ogres right to them. Aurora's plans have crumbled. Logic wins out. Mulan picks her up from the ground. She bolts.

/-\

They survive, in short. Meet up with Emma looking shell-shocked and Snow scowling.

"It's not a problem anymore," the brunette says shortly, finality in her tone. Aurora sees it – the ex-huntress, past-princess, meant-to-be-queen, Snow White. Entirely capable. She will be difficult to catch off guard again. Part of Aurora – the same part Mulan has scolded and scowled at, grabbed by the hand and dragged away from beasts in the dark, saved – wants to just let it go. Wants to turn around and 'channel her anger' as she's been told, and stop messing with this woman in her strange clothes and her self-assured soul. Another part, still grieving, clings to the fading want of vengeance, of blood for lifeblood. "Let's go."

And they walk. One ogre has been taken care of, sure, but there will be others following on the tail of that heart-stopping sound. Emma's contraption is absent from its unusual sheath on the blonde's hip. But every once in a while she sees the woman rolling strange little metal vials between her fingers – "bullets", she says when Aurora's curiosity wins out over her pride.

"What are these 'bullets'?" she asks. The night is long, the walk taxing, and Mulan is up ahead with the Snow woman who swears she was a queen in another life and another time. Emma walks towards the back with her, but apart, quiet, frowning, struggling through the woods. It is ironic, and some part of Aurora scowls for seeking conversation with this other-worlder, this woman responsible for Phillip's death. But the walk is boring. Emma is unfamiliar, new. Aurora is curious – and with Mulan ahead, this is all she's got. Snow throws a look over her shoulder, and Aurora feels the glare – but she will not be cowed by this snow queen of Storybrooke, she will not hold her tongue because of an icy look. She wants to talk and fill the silence. She wants to learn. She will kill this Snow one day, she swears it – and Emma, too. But in the meantime…

"Uh. Kind of like arrows, I guess," Emma answers quietly, frowning. Aurora blinks at her, staring at the little bronze vial with a furrowed brow.

"But it's so small. How does it nock on the bow? How do you _shoot_ it?"

Emma's steps falter for a fraction of a second, and even following behind as she is Aurora is not entirely sure if this is a reaction to her words, or just the blonde trying to find her feet on the forest floor.

"It doesn't," Emma says, glancing back at her with a hint of a smile. Aurora frowns, because that is either a sign of fondness or amusement, and considering her loudly voiced inclination towards killing these outsiders she doubts it's the former. Nor, though, does she wish to be _amusing_ to this false princess, to be treated like a commonplace _dolt_. She is not some stupid little girl to be appeased and put aside. But then Emma turns to face forward and continues speaking – and she does not sound as though she is making fun, or specifically dumbing down her explanation; just comparing, stating the facts, supplying requested information. Helpful, friendly. "The thing I had before – my gun – that's where science took weaponry in my world. It looks nothing like a bow, obviously, but it's kind of the same idea. Ranged weaponry."

"Your world relies on _science_?"

She knows what science _is_ of course. It's ever-present. But the world she lives in relies on magic and miracles, things that surpass explanation. The idea of a world focussed on math and study, on calculations and hard facts, void of imagination and mystery, is foreign to her. A world without magic. She cannot grasp it, but for perhaps the first time she begins to understand why Emma is so alien in nature, so out of her element here. Aurora cannot comprehend, cannot imagine, living in a world where magic, where all of the things she has learnt in her life, are rendered obsolete. But finally she sees – that is exactly what Emma is doing right now.

"We're getting close," Snow says, a little louder than specifically necessary, cutting off whatever reply Emma may or may not be thinking up for her, and it is like a switch is flipped. Emma drops back into that nearly brooding silence, the intense thoughtfulness. Aurora frowns at the abrupt ending of their conversation, pauses when her cloak snags on a bush and grumbles as she stops to yank it free.

"Aurora," Mulan calls, ever-alert, always looking for another critique, it seems. "You've got to keep up."

"Sorry, but I'm not exactly dressed for the woods," she says, barely rushing her steps to close the short gap. Falling behind in the dark is an unfavourable outcome – Mulan has the only torch, and she didn't pick a thicker cloak before following them out of the camp. The longer this trek goes, the more she curses her lack of foresight. And hindsight, really – it's not like she never travelled beforehand, either. "And it's cold out here."

"Then maybe you should have listened to me and stayed back."

She doesn't need to see the warrior's face to know how grudging the words are. Mulan's opinion of her has not heightened at all with her plans. The woman still thinks her a fool. But even so, it is not Mulan's tone that catches her attention – it is the slow of Emma's step while she pulls at the leather clothing her torso, exposing her rather fascinating arms and turning to hold it out to Aurora in the dark.

"Here."

Aurora is hesitant at the taking. This is chivalry at its base form, even if it is accompanied by a sigh and a tired tone. In her experience, the evil aren't chivalrous. Killers and schemers do not care about a person's discomfort, about bad wardrobe choices and chills in the dead of night. They do not _give_, least of all to someone who takes pains to declare themselves an enemy. How could someone with any such value, with even just a hint of selflessness, intend a man to lose his soul? Maybe Snow was right. Maybe it was not their fault.

"But I tried to kill your friend?"

It is her hesitation, and the only one she intends to give. There is bad blood between them – or there is meant to be. But here is Emma, of the ether, of _somewhere else_, holding out a peace offering wrapped in red leather and a tired frown.

"Actually, she's my mom," Emma says. She doesn't look comfortable with it – not like she doesn't accept the fact, or know it, not even that she seems to doubt it. But rather, the way the words leave her lips, it seems as though she is resigning herself to something. Aurora doesn't know what. She doesn't know how Emma thinks. She hardly knows the girl. "And I have a feeling she can take care of herself. And I get it –" The blonde glances back at her for a fraction of a second, walking on, back to moving forward, ghost of a smile on her lips that speaks of likeness, of self-deprecation. "You're not the only one who's been screwing up lately."

She gathers what 'screwing up' means, though the phrase itself is not something she knows. She is quickly learning that Emma speaks some separate kind of language, familiar apart from the breaks, the slang and jargon of another world. She will feel this confusion more times than she'll be able to count before their parting, she knows. Still, she is touched by the small kindness, the quiet understanding. Mulan huffs at her weakness in the forest, but Emma just looks and her and hands her another layer and says it's alright – it's not a problem, it doesn't mean anything. Mulan is the closest thing she has to a friend in this world, but the warrior still thinks her an inconvenience. So why does Emma – wraith-leading, chivalrous, other-worldly Emma – seem to see her as anything else?

And what, exactly, is this leather thing? Is it a _coat_?

"What kind of corset is this?"

She doesn't get an answer. Snow seems intent on ruining any and all attempts at conversation between her _daughter_ and Aurora. Or maybe Aurora is just paranoid, filled with frustration at the woman who bested her earlier in the evening – maybe it is just bad timing. The red leather lies limply in her hand when she catches up to the others at the crest of the hill. The crumbling palace, out across the water, bathed in the moonlight. Desolate. Beautiful.

Snow and Emma exchange words – an "is that it?", and very little else. But when Aurora takes her gaze away from the wreckage and the reflection of destruction on the calm lake, she can see it – the trepidation, the tension, the sadness in the line of Snow's shoulders and her straight back. And Emma, uncertain, beside her same-aged mother, looking at a place that should have been familiar in another life, wanting to give comfort and not knowing how.

These two are not killers. They are just far from home.

"Emma," she says – puts on that huffy princess voice, because if the blonde is annoyed then she can't be, well, whatever she is now. Irritation is better than whatever morose atmosphere these two other-worlders are cultivating. "Is this a _coat_?"

Mulan rolls her eyes, and Snow shakes her head, and Emma turns around to give her a shrewd smile, a disbelieving laugh when she says "it's a _jacket_" and steps towards her. Aurora doesn't smile at the mission accomplished – she isn't familiar enough for that, yet. The tension is not gone, but it's ratcheted down enough that it no longer stifles – and really, there's not much more she can ask for. It opens the avenue for a whole other kind of tension, though, as Emma moves around behind her, out of her line of sight, and then Aurora feel a tug at the back of her cloak. Emma lifts the white trail behind her, tells her to "put the jacket _on_ already, princess," in a tone that's obviously vaguely amused rather than just plain exasperated. She shivers – though she's not so sure it's from the cold – and pulls her arms through the sleeves under her cloak. Surrounds herself in the residual warmth – Emma's body heat, clinging to the fabric inline.

Soon enough they are moving again, and she is warmer now and more careful with her cloak. They trek down towards the shore, with Aurora surrounded by a hint of a strange perfume, the quiet, heady scent stuck to the leather, to the inlay, and now to her. But for the life of her, she cannot get past Snow's narrowed eyes at the top of the hill, staring her down while Emma stood too close behind her, helping to get her warm.

/-\

The closer they get to the castle, the stiffer Snow gets. Aurora does not know why, but Mulan takes the time to speak. Maybe it's to fill the silence, stave off the awkwardness that floats around them when no one's talking, the tension of 'you tried to kill me' and 'you tied me to the back of a horse and dragged me around for days'. Maybe it's some kind of respectful desire to ease Snow's discomfort. Or maybe it's genuine curiosity – disbelief, interest. Perhaps it's even all of the above.

"Did you really kill a dragon?"

Emma, for her part, sniffs and kicks at the rocks beneath her feet, sending them skittering a few paces ahead of them down the shore. Aurora, rugged up in the blonde's strange red leather _jacket_, finds her attention spurred again. Emma just frowns.

"Is it seriously that hard to believe?" she scoffs, kicking at another stone and – is she _pouting_? "When I'm not in a world that renders all my life-learned lessons completely useless, I'm actually pretty capable." She pauses and contemplates her own words, then tacks on an addendum. "Or, well, I have a better handle on things, anyway."

Emma obviously seems to think that it's disbelief. Amusement, maybe, Mulan trying to put 'dragon-killer' alongside the image of the woman she's seen so far. Aurora – well, Aurora is intrigued. This is the woman possibly responsible for the wraith that took her prince away, the other-worlder, the ether girl. Strange, new, completely out of her element. But envisioning her as a slayer, as a leader, a warrior, a pillar of strength, is as _right_ as it is outlandish. Because this is also a woman with strength in her bare arms and a hardness in her blue eyes, chivalry in the way she hands Aurora her jacket and lifts her cloak out of the way to let her put it on, and implores her to watch her step.

"Yes but – you really killed it? Why?"

Emma gives an exasperated shrug, looking to Snow and finding only an amused eye roll sent back for her efforts.

"My son was sick. I was told the dragon has swallowed bottled _true love_ and it was the only way to save him." She says it in a way that makes her feelings on the matter completely clear – it is a fact, it happened, and she accepts it even though she found the whole scenario completely absurd. Even here, in the enchanted forest, facing trolls with bows and arrows and placing her life at sword point, she is incredulous. "It was locked beneath the town. I killed it, found what I was looking for. And then Gold promptly double-crossed me and left me stranded down an elevator shaft."

Aurora is perhaps more caught thinking '_what the devil is an elevator_?' than Mulan, as the warrior proceeds, falling back into step with the blonde and staring intently while she asks questions.

"What was it like? I've never faced a dragon before. Was it hard to kill? Did you shoot it with your strange gun contraption?"

Aurora rushes the steps to catch up properly; falling into the empty space on Emma's other side. Stories of battles have never really caught her fancy in the past – her interest in Phillip's tales was always more out of duty, out of worry for his well-being rather than personal interest in his tactics and his ventures. For Emma, she does not know where her curiosity comes from, but it rules her for the moment. She doesn't understand this ether girl – but somehow, she wants to. She wants to see the expression, hear the story. Up ahead Snow's shoulders shake with silent laughter and Emma glares at the back of her head while Aurora ignores it.

"It was huge, and loud, and its breath stunk like bad eggs and burnt toast," Emma says dryly, crossing her arms across her chest tightly, uncomfortable where she is boxed in between the warrior and the princess. "And I killed it with a sword."

"So you _are_ a woman of the sword!" Mulan exclaims, looking rather thrilled at the prospect – like it is a redeeming quality for the woman she's seen so far, a relatable concept. Maybe she thinks she will find a comrade here in Emma, someone who understands her way of life. Either way, Emma only snorts.

"Uh, _no_," she says. "Not at all. Never touched a sword before that day in my life." Aurora doesn't know if Mulan looks more disappointed by that or amazed. "Got to say though, I'm pretty sure even fairytale land dragons don't normally explode into a cloud of glitter when you kill them."

"That's probably because Maleficent was a witch first, sweetheart," Snow supplies from up ahead and Emma shrugs her quasi-agreement.

"You killed _Maleficent_?" Aurora asks, caught off-guard. She can't stop it from slipping past her lips. There is a history there; terrorisation and fear, curses and magic. And now there is freedom by the words and feats of a stranger from a far off land. Emma blinks, glances at her and frowns as if trying to work through a complex problem but Aurora hardly notices. She does not know if she should be thankful, or relieved, or maybe feel cheated of her chance to deliver retribution. Either which way, if Emma Swan has truly killed the witch, has faced and fought evil and reigned victorious – well, perhaps she isn't as horrid and antagonistic as Aurora has been telling herself thus far. Maybe she is good. Maybe Phillip's death is truly not her fault.

It is not until they have nearly reached the castle gates – what remains of them, anyway – that Emma stops, stares at her and says "Oh. You're _that_ Aurora," and cocks her head to the side with consideration. She smiles and adds on "Disney really doesn't do you justice."

Aurora wonders what that _means_, exactly – because somewhere ahead of them Snow is practically cackling. But she can't stop her own shy smile. She's pretty sure it was a compliment.

/-\

Snow walks the room with nostalgia, and Emma with a morbid curiosity, but Aurora is hardly three steps in before Mulan ushers her back out of the doorway. She understands – this is not their place. It is Snow's, to remember and explore, and impart her goodbyes. It is Emma's to look at, and imagine, in a way that Aurora does not understand and probably never will.

It is not until she is outside, feeling the cold again without Emma's jacket around her, perfume lingering on her own clothes, that she realises – they intend to leave now. She doesn't know how she feels about that.

/-\

They don't go.

The wardrobe doesn't work, and Lancelot appears but it isn't really Lancelot, and Emma lights the wood on fire with her little metal vials. Cora disappears in a puff of smoke with a promise of things to come and Aurora rushes to help Emma up off the ground. They have no leader, and later Mulan will look to Snow and Aurora will find herself agreeing. But for a long moment beforehand, she stands with Emma and Snow and watches their first hope burn.

Ashes will not send them home, but ashes are all that they have.

/-\

The camp is a wreck when they return. There is smoke, the ash of burnt out fires, bodies tossed haphazard in the clearing. _Ogres_, they think, because that is what they know – these people have been fighting ogres for all the cursed years. They must have been found, overrun and killed.

The truth is quick to air and far more gruesome.

Cora, the evil witch who makes Regina seem a saint, almost, in comparison. She has come, and conquered, and killed them all – torn the hearts right out of every persons' chest, aided by instinctual cruelty and dark magics. Emma finds a moving hand among the wreckage, connected to a living body, and they pull him out. They set him at a table to ease him and hear the story, and Aurora watches over him while Emma walks off for water with Mulan. It's a pretext, she knows – they hardly _both_ need to go, and they walk side by side until they are out of her sight, and then back in it again. They're _discussing_ something. As equals, oddly enough. When they return, they give the survivor a cup, and Emma hands her one across the table, idle, pleasing.

Aurora can only watch as Emma finds her feet, finally.

There is no awkwardness in her side of the interrogation – and that's what it is, she realises; an _interrogation_. Emma does not believe this handsome stranger, when he tells them he survived the slaughter. Whether it is born of practice or of paranoia, Emma questions. Mulan does not object, or try to take over, and when Snow trails her way over from the cooking fire neither does she. In the forest, in battle, in survival, it is obvious that they are the leaders, the warriors – the ones to look to and listen to and follow. But here, at the table, in the wake of a massacre, it is Emma who leads the way forward.

It is in the way she stands – solid, balanced, firm on the ground, palms on the table, leaning over to impose, but not intimidate. She is firm without being overly threatening. And when she speaks, there is no doubt, there is no second-guessing – she knows what she is doing. Aurora is intrigued enough in Emma's worst moments, but now the blonde shines. For the first time, Aurora can see without a shadow of a doubt – this is the leader, the ruler, the _princess_. This is the woman who has slain a dragon and broken curses. This is Emma, in her element and in control.

The conversation progresses and it is made clear – this _man_ is either a liar or a coward, and while neither is particularly favourable Aurora hopes it is the latter.

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret," she hears Emma say, leaning down to stare at this strange man, and Aurora can only stare at the hard gaze, the new side to Emma Swan. She does not like that the softer tone is directed at this man, the intimacy of it is foreign to her. The steel, he can keep. "I'm pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me."

"I'm telling you the truth."

Emma doesn't say anything more, but her strange little smile at his words says it all. She does not believe him, even if she does back off, idly walking behind him, letting Snow and Mulan steer the conversation again. Aurora watches her resign herself to someone else's lead. Emma may be brash in some cases – shooting guns in ogre-infested forests kind of gives that point away – but she is not foolish. Her reign, her area of expertise has come to a temporary close, and it is time to let the leaders light the way. Or so Aurora thinks, until the blonde pulls a dagger on the man's throat, yanking his head back by the hair.

It works better when she does it, Aurora notes, remembering a rough throw to the ground and Snow pinning her wrists down. It's a lot more fascinating to watch, too.

Aurora expects a protest, but Emma's hostage is the only one voicing them. Mulan walks off to find a length of rope, and Snow just sighs and lets it happen. Apparently, Emma has their faith here. Neither of them objects, so Aurora doesn't either. Later, watching Emma tie the man to a tree, calling him a liar and whistling to attract the ogres, it is so very hard to see her again as the woman stumbling through the woods, shell-shocked and out of place. She takes her mistake and makes it a weapon, stares the man down, bluffs until he breaks.

Aurora thinks she's bluffing, anyway, when they make to walk away and leave him there.

There is panic – the ogres are coming, they have only so much time. But there is also an intense attraction. Emma leads the whole encounter exactly where she wants it to go. In moments, they know that he is Killian Jones – Captain Hook – and he works with Cora. And now, he will work for them. Emma gets what she wants with ease – and then she releases him and keeps him on a leash, mistrustful as ever.

Hours later, as they walk, and as they sit by a campfire through the night, Aurora is still caught on that moment, watching Emma turn away from the man tied to the tree and leave the liar to his fate.

She remembers her own compassion, the naivety she can never seem to squash calling out the words "what if he's telling the truth?". A man could die from that decision, she thinks. An innocent. And if Emma would leave an innocent man to die so callously, then why wouldn't she lead a wraith through a portal to kill a prince?

"He's not."

She does not understand where Emma's conviction comes from, but she remembers it. Without knowing why, she trusts it, too. Emma is not callous – just different. But that has to be what makes her so interesting, really.

/-\

They are caught before the beanstalk. The downside to leaving a liar alive.

_Captain Hook_ makes as much noise as possible on the home stretch, searching for that last chance at freedom. He finds it. The ogres come and the five of them scatter. Even running for her life, controlled by that familiar fear, she is not naïve enough to think they will see him again – not unless he comes back with a witch and a grudge, anyway. And even then, she herself probably won't see him at all.

An ogre follows her – not a lucky day for Aurora, not at all – and not for the first time, she curses her cloak, and her dress, and all the last vestiges of her old life and her true love and her destiny and her home that she wears on her body. Seven hells, she could go for a good pair of pants. She makes it a fair while, really, running through the forest in her less than appropriate ensemble with a roaring beast on her heels. When she trips, she is not surprised. She promises herself to change her damned clothes as soon as the opportunity arises. With an ogre looming over her, though, she's not so sure that time will ever come.

Its arms go up, giant fists clenching, and she scrambles back to her feet. Mulan is at the edge of the clearing, just out of the tree line with her sword drawn – but there is little use there because she is too far away, and the steel of her blade won't even dent the ogre's hide. Snow is six steps out of the trees on the other side, bow drawn, yelling, screaming for its attention, for a clear shot at its face. And Aurora is wondering where they came from, how they knew to find her, because they were running in different directions for so long, and then, maybe, not long at all. It all blurs together when you're running for your life. But the ogre – the terrible, horrid, loud beast – just snarls and roars over her, right in her face. It has her in front of it, her sound in its ears. It knows it has found its prey. Aurora knows it too.

She is not fast enough. She has nowhere to go.

Those huge arms start falling silently down through the air, and she can't even bring herself to closing her eyes. She is going to be squashed beneath its gargantuan fists, a bloody mess on the forest floor. Should she be happier then – to be marked, to be killed? She can be with Phillip in whatever life there is that exists beyond this one. She can have the love she has lost.

Except, as she waits for the crash and the fall, the moment of impact, all she knows is this – she wants to live.

It comes before she can puzzle it out. Life doesn't move in slow motion. An ogre will not pause it's movements to sponsor her moments of revelation. Neither, apparently, will Emma Swan.

Her teeth clash and her bones jar with the impact, and she is thrown three metres to crash down to the forest floor. But that's a misstatement – she is _carried three metres_ to crash to the forest floor. There is a loud thud and the ground shakes when the ogre's huge fists pound down on dirt, rock and grass. The beast howls at the escape of its prey, roars and crashes its hands to the ground again, whirling to find the sound, the scent, to hunt again mid-tantrum. But it spins too far, and Snow finally gets her shot, loosing her arrow and whooping as it hits home.

"I'm alive," Aurora gasps out, wide-eyed, winded from the impact, from the leather-clad shoulder that had crashed so harshly into her gut, from the arms that swept her right off her feet just in the nick of time. "I'm _alive_!" She doesn't know if it is the light-headedness, all the air expelled from her lungs now failing to reach her brain, or if it is just reflex – ingrained. But for whatever reason, she is clutching at Emma's red jacket, at blonde hair, pulling the woman around with a breathless "you saved my _life_!"

And then she kisses her.

Oh.

Woops.

/-\

She is a child when she first learns about destiny. Phillip steals her heart as predicted, and she plans her life accordingly. She will grow up strong, win the hearts and minds of her people. She will kiss Phillip to ease his troubled heart, when things go wrong and he saves the day, and she will marry him one day. They will rule together and live in love. Cue the happily ever after.

She does not ever, ever think that her knight in shining armour will turn up an ether princess in a red leather jacket, or that she will be saved by crash tackle rather than true love's kiss. She doesn't consider that her 'happily ever after' will be replaced by an uncertain future in a cursed world. She doesn't plan for it.

But then, Aurora is always learning how rarely life goes according to plan.


End file.
